


As It Was And As It Is

by wefellasangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bikers, Gen, M/M, Multi, Team Free Will, musician!AU, supernatural Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:29:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wefellasangels/pseuds/wefellasangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, Dean, and Castiel are tipped off about the murders of five couples in Youngstown, Ohio. Through further investigation, the boys learn that the killings are the work of Djinns and that there is a larger conflict at hand. However, when Sam and Dean are captured, Castiel must enlist the help of a few friends in order to rescue them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by several prompts sent in by members of the Supernatural Fandom; each prompt and its respective sender is presented as the end of each chapter.

The conductor looks apologetically at the cellist.

“I know it’s last-minute, Castiel, but they called in sick – we had no choice but to call in another percussionist.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Another percussionist?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“I see. And how much…‘experience’ does this replacement have?” Castiel inquires, trying to suppress his sudden anger. They had been rehearsing for months; there was no way the biggest night of his life was going to be ruined by some amateur.

The conductor sighs, turning away from Castiel as she looks out into the soon-to-be-filled seats of the music hall.

“Enough experience to get us through the night.”

…

With fifteen minutes to spare, Dean Winchester takes his place on stage in the back right of the orchestra. Standing behind the xylophone, he looks over his instrument, smoothing down his tux and readjusting his tie.

Alright, Dean thinks. Let’s take a look….Four-octave range….Two sets of mallets: yarn and…freaking ebony? The hell are we even playi-

“You’re late.”

Dean looks up and meets the conductor’s disapproving stare.

“You’re late, Mr. Winchester,” she repeats again, handing him the evening’s score. “You were supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago.”

Dean nods and clears his throat, taking the score from her. “Yeah, I get that. Sorry I, uh, kinda got caught up with this whole…family thing. My brother-“

The conductor cuts him off with a raised hand. “I’m sure you have a very good excuse, Mr. Winchester, but we don’t have time for that now – we go on in ten minutes.” And with that, she heads back to her podium and music stand at the front of the stage.

Nine minutes later and they’ve run through several last-minutes scales, a violinist had her question about a key change on page 34 answered, and they were now waiting for the curtain to rise.

Dean can hear the low buzz of voices from the audience, their excitement causing a tangible atmosphere of nervousness among the musicians.

Dean rolls his eyes. Aw, c’mon…you’ve all had months of freakin’ practice. If anyone should be pissing themselves right now, it should be me…

Just then, right before the curtain-rise, one the cellists turns back to glare at Dean. Before Dean can make a face or, more preferably, flip the guy off, the musician faces the front once more. Though it was brief, the message was crystal clear: don’t fuck up.

…

Every.

Single.

Note.

Castiel is hardly the mico-management type when it comes to other musicians’ performances – but this time, he can’t help but pay extra attention to each and every note played by the replacement percussionist. A single note played in the wrong key, played in the wrong octave…or played during a rest could ruin everything…

But three pieces into the concert, Castiel is pleasantly relieved; no screw-ups made by the percussionist, or by anyone else for that matter. And by the fourth piece, Castiel’s mind has already drifted ahead in anticipation of his solo at the closing of the piece. No other instruments or musicians to share the spotlight with him, or even a conductor to guide his dynamics. Just him and his cello.

Two hundred measures left until the end of the piece and Castiel’s pulse begins to race.

One-hundred-fifty-five measures left and a bead of sweat makes it way down Castiel’s back.

One-hundred-nineteen measures left and suddenly Castiel can begin to make out faces in the audience of 1,800 people…even though the house lights are dimmed.

Eighty-seven measured left until the end of the piece – and Castiel’s solo begins.

The world is dead to him.

…

Dean could say that the cellist played well…that he played really well, in fact.

Dean could say that the solo was breathtaking, that it was beautiful, that it was captivating, that it was every damn thing under the “perfect” entry in the thesaurus. But none of those would be accurate.

The cellist’s solo had been…intimate. It was an 87-measure conversation held between instrument and musician, private and unrelenting. Each note played had its own gravitational pull, so anyone present during the piece felt as though those moments were only meant for them, the musician, and the cello.

An 87-measure solo…and every single one of those notes had pulled Dean in closer and closer until he was caught in the musician’s orbit, so much so that the remaining five pieces they performed afterward passed by in a blur. 

…

“You were all marvelous! Absolutely marvelous…”

“We were watching you the entire time – couldn’t take our eyes off you! Oh, you were amazing…”

“Is it alright if we take a quick picture with you?”

“Can you sign this for my son? He couldn’t be here tonight, he’s ill – poor thing…”

There are too many damn people asking about too many damn things and I’m sure we’re all just about to run out of damn oxygen any moment, Dean complains to himself.

The orchestra had a successful night, and for having stepped in at the last possible minute, Dean knows he kicked it in the ass. But he doesn’t need to be told that a hundred times in twenty different variations – the attention is too much and if he has to be honest, he was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic.

Dean’s only priority at this point is to find the cello soloist and introduce himself. Why? Maybe to compliment him on a performance well executed? Maybe to properly introduce himself seeing as they, somehow, got off on the wrong foot? Maybe to asking him if he wants to go out for coffee? Dean doesn’t really know, but it was a better option than attempting to take compliments in stride all night.

Dean makes his way through the crowded hall, deflecting praise and requests with a simple “I’m going to the bathroom – I’ll do it when I get back”, and heads backstage.

Among the ninety-five or so instrumentalists backstage, Dean has no problem finding the cellist, who happens to be slightly taller than most of the other musicians. As the soloist begins putting his instrument away at a table about three yards away, Dean approaches him.

“Hey,” Dean begins, holding out his hand. “I’m-“

“Dean Winchester. Yes, I know,’ the cellist finishes, facing him.

Taken aback, Dean closes his offered hand into a fist and lets it fall lamely at his side. “Ah…okay. And you are?”

“Castiel.”

“Awesome. Right…well, I just wanted to say that I, uh…”

Dean trails off, suddenly distracted by the flickering lights on the ceiling.

Castiel watches, confused, as Dean’s eyes go from one light source to another, from those on the ceiling to the lights installed in the walls.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“The lights. They’re going out,” he replies, controlled panic in his voice. He looks back at Castiel, worried. “Don’t tell me you’re not seeing this?”

“Uh, no. I’m not seeing…anything unusual.”

“Dammit,” Dean curses under his breath. He runs a hand over his face, briefly closing his eyes.

…

There is a bright light shining in Dean’s eyes, but even if he could see properly, he’s too weak to lift his eyelids completely.

…

“Dean…Dean? Are you alright…Dean…”

…

His shoulders are sore and Dean realizes it’s because his arms are tied over his head and he’s hanging from the rope binding his wrists together…

…

“Dean? Hey! Dean, wake up! Wake up…”

…

There is a needle in his neck and that’s all he can gather before he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Given for this Chapter: 
> 
> "Okay, so how about musician!Cas plays in a classical symphony that is about to have a concert but one of their percussionists got sick so they call in Dean Winchester to fill in for them. Cas has a solo during one of the pieces and he plays so beautifully that he catches Dean attention and after the concert Dean decides to go introduce himself..?“
> 
> \- @skywqlker on tumblr


	2. Before the Storm

3 DAYS AGO

“So, we finally caught a case, huh?”

Dean walks into the Bunker’s kitchen carrying a plate of food, taking a seat at the table across from Sam and Castiel.

“Yes, we have,” Castiel confirms, looking back at Sam’s laptop. “Y/N called in earlier and informed us of a case in Youngstown, Ohio that s/he picked up off local news reports.”

“Y/N called in?” Dean repeats, surprised. “From where?”

“A few states over,” Sam says. “Adam needed backup…turns out there were a few more ghouls than he’d thought.”

Dean shakes his head and begins unwrapping his food, a breakfast meal he got from a fast food joint a few minutes away. “The kid finally gets topside and he’s trying to get himself killed already.”

“Y/N is…a very experienced hunter,” Castiel reassures Dean. “S/he’ll be able to help your brother…And… of course, with Lucifer’s assistance – “

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Dean, I know he’s not your favorite person,” Sam says quietly. “But he got Adam out, man. And we know for sure now that he’s not –“

“Yeah, I get it, Sam” Dean interrupts. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it. But,” Dean gives a thin-lipped smile, “whatever, right? Now, tell me what’s going on in Ohio.”

ali

Dean takes a bite of both his hash brown and his bacon and cheese breakfast burrito. Sam stares for a few seconds, half amused and half disgusted, as Dean chews his breakfast somewhat exaggeratedly.

“Well, uh, in the past week, Youngstown has had five double homicides. Victims were found in their homes, hanging from the door frames. Doors were locked, no forced entry – the usual,” Sam explains.

Dean nods, swallowing the food in his mouth. “And you said these were double homicides?”

“Yes,” Castiel continues. “All of the victims were married couples.”

“Anything else linking the vic’s?”

Both Sam and Castiel shake their heads. “For the time being, that’s all we know,” Castiel finishes.

Dean takes another bite of his burrito and begins talking. “Awesome; when are we heading out?

“Soon as you’re done inhaling your food,” Sam teases.

…

“Alright. Thanks, man.” As Sam touches the end call button they pass a Rest Stop sign, indicating a gas station, restaurant, and restrooms fifteen miles away.

“Ash have some good news for us?” Dean asks from behind the wheel.

“Yes and no,” Sam replies.

“What’s the good news?” Castiel inquires, sliding forward to the edge of the Impala’s backseat.

“Well, Ash was able to find one more connection between the victims: they were all seeing marriage counselors from the same clinic.”

“And let me guess,” Dean predicts flatly. “The names of each of their counselors are classified information, right?”

“Yeah, Ash was lucky enough to find out that they were even in counseling.”

“Naturally…and the not so good news?”

Although it’s dark, Sam shifts in his seat so that he can face Dean and Castiel. All he could see was the outlines of their faces, but it was better than nothing. “So get this: at first the police thought they were dealing with double suicides – until the third couple turned up dead. So now, of course, they’re suspecting foul play.”

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightens a bit. “Dammit…”

Castiel narrows his eyes and looks between the brothers. “What does that mean for us?”

“Cas,” Sam starts. “This is now a homicide case, so the police are gonna be all over it –“

“And with a town that size, there’s no way the FBI aren’t gonna get called in,” Dean continues. “Locals can’t handle a crime of this size. For all they know, there could be a serial killer on the loose…”

Castiel nods in understanding. “And that’s…the bad news – we can’t just pose as FBI or any form of law enforcement, for that matter.”

“Exactly,” Sam sighs.

“Well, we have“ – Castiel looks at the time on the Impala’s control panel – “about nine hours left to…come up with an alternate solution. We have time.”

No one says anything, so Dean turns on the radio, raising the volume until the sounds of the engine and road beneath the tires are drowned out by the music.

…

2 DAYS AGO

After almost a twenty hour drive, six rest stops, and four changes in driver, the boys finally make it to Youngstown, Ohio. It’s early morning when they pull into a motel and book their stay for two nights. After settling in, they decide to call Y/N for ideas on how to go about their case. Dean and Castiel sit a small table by the window while Sam sits on the nearby bed; the phone rests on the table, set to speaker.

“How about posing as family members of the deceased?” S/he suggests.

“We’ve discussed that and have decided against it,” Castiel answers, sighing as he rests his head on his arms on the table top. “There is a….strong possibility that the actual family members of the deceased will be in town by now…and posing as several family members for all the victims would be complicated.”

“Fair enough…how about as reporters?”

Dean gives a short laugh, messing with the empty beer can on the table. “Well, first off, law enforcement hate the press –“

“And we’d need more access than the press have,” Sam adds. “It’d be hard to get to the crime scenes, let alone the counselors’ offices with just a camera and pad of paper.”

“So let me get this straight,” Y/N says. “You need enough authority to get to the crime scenes. What does it take to get into the clinic?”

“At the very least, an appointment,” Sam replies, twirling a pen between his fingers. “But if we can get into the crime scene, the clinic shouldn’t be a problem. We just need to get into the counselors’ offices…take a look at the vics’ files…”

There’s a brief silence at the other end of the line as Y/N takes a moment to think.

“Alright, here’s the plan: the three of you split up. I don’t care up, but split up into two and one. One of you is gonna check out crime posing as FBI, CIA, NSA – whatever three-letter organization tickles your peach.”

Castiel sits up again, his brow furrowed. “And the other two of us?”

“You said you guys could get in with at least an appointment? Well, make an appointment, search the clinic – the standard procedure…”

“Oh, god…” Sam mutters.

Dean looks at his brother, slightly apprehensive about Sam’s change in tone. “What?”

Sam smiles a bit weakly. “Dude…you’re getting what Y/N’s saying, right?”

Eyes wide, Dean looks between the phone and his brother, still confused. “No, obviously I’m missing something here, Sam.”

Over the phone Y/N sighs and the boys can almost sense her/him roll her/his eyes in disbelief. It’s quiet, but they can hear the muttered “…can be so thick sometimes…” from Y/N’s end of the line.

“Dean,” Castiel explains patiently. “In order to search the clinic’s offices, we have to make an appointment….and then two of us will meet with a counselor posing as a married couple. It’s actually quite simple.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Given for this Chapter:
> 
> As I only received nine prompts for this fan fiction, this chapter is not inspired by any particular prompt, but introduces elements from prompts by @alienkid97, @fangirlbillie, and @sammit-dam from tumblr. Their prompts will be introduced in upcoming chapters. (All remaining chapters will be driven by specific prompts - chapter two is an exception.)
> 
> \- @wefellasangels


	3. Hot and Cold Winds

2 DAYS AGO

Y/N clears her/his throat over the phone.

“Alright, I’m hearing a lot of silence so I can only assume that the three of you are, uh…staring at each other uncomfortably….So, I’ll leave you to it then.” Y/N gives a short, humorless laugh and hangs up.

Hearing the “click” of the phone as Y/N ends the call, Dean snaps out of his shock-induced daze and turns his phone off.

“So,” Sam begins, getting off the bed and heading toward to the motel room’s fridge. “Anyone feel like volunteering?”

“That depends – you volunteering, Sammy?” Dean retorts.

Sam opens the fridge and grabs a beer, sighing. “Dude, look…if you don’t wanna do it-“

“I’m not saying that,” Dean replies defensively. Sam and Castiel share a brief look across the room and Sam smirks.

“Okay, then,” Sam tries again. “So…you…do…want to do - ?“

“I’m not saying that, either. Look,” Dean stands from his place at the table. “I really don’t care-“

“You’re lying,” Castiel interrupts.

Dean looks at Castiel and misses a beat before responding. “What?”

“Dean,” Castiel says, finally standing up. “I believe you are –“ air quotes “-‘uncomfortable’, so to speak with the whole, uh-“ another set of air quotes “-‘sham marriage’ plan.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “…got to be kidding me – guys, I already said I’m cool with it, okay? People are dying – and if we’ve gotta play house, then that’s what we’ll do. So let’s flip a damn coin or something and do our freakin’ jobs already.”

Both Sam and Castiel nod, Sam taking a sip of beer.

…

“Heads or tails, Cas?” 

“Which is which?”

“Heads: you’re in. Tails: you’re out.”

“Then…tails, I guess.”

The three of them stand in a circle in the middle of the room as Sam throws the quarter in the air and then catches in his right hand. Flipping the coin onto the back of his left hand, Sam announces the toss.

“Heads. Sorry, Cas.”

Castiel gives a small smile. “Like Dean mentioned, it’s for a good reason.”

Sam returns Castiel’s smile and then looks to Dean. “Alright, heads or tails?”

“Nuh uh, we’re doing this the old fashioned way, little brother.” Dean holds out both his hands, one closed in a fist and the other hand underneath it, palm facing up.

“Rock-paper-scissors?” Sam asks, an eyebrow raised.

“C’mon, Sam.”

“Dean…really?”

“Dude, yes! Winner gets to rock the fed suit – best two out of three, let’s go.”

Sam can’t help but laugh as he gets ready.

“Rock, paper, scissors!”

Rock beats scissors and the point goes to Sam.

“Rock, paper, scissors!”

Paper covers rock and the point goes to Dean.

They go for a third round and tie with scissors. A final round: rock beats scissors and Dean’s face falls – the point goes to Sam.

Smiling, Sam puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Enjoy the married life, bro.”

…

“Cas, what the hell are you doing?” Dean whispers, automatically pulling his hand away.

“Isn’t it customary for couples to hold hands?”

“Dude…”

They had gotten to the clinic about an hour and a half ago, and had waited to be seen. After over an hour of waiting, they were now being escorted to one of the counselor’s offices, making their way through endless hallways….And Castiel was now trying to hold Dean’s hand as they walked.

“Dean,” Castiel responds quietly. “I think we should be holding hands…that’s what I’ve seen couples do-“

“Yeah – happily married couples, Cas!” Dean hisses back. “We’re not supposed be happy – that’s why we’re here!”

Castiel sighs, but nods in understanding.

Soon, the two of them are ushered into an office on the third floor.

“The doctor will be with you two shortly,” the receptionist says. “Feel free to make yourselves comfortable.” With a well-practiced smile, the receptionist leaves Dean and Castiel, closing the door behind her. As he walks over to lock the door, Dean looks at his watch. It was 3:51 in the afternoon.

“Alright, we’ve got less than ten minutes before the shrink shows up to search the office.”

The large bookcase next to the ceiling-to-floor window; the drawers of the antique desk at one end of the room; underneath the cushions of the large burgundy love seat in the middle of the room. Castiel and Dean search everywhere, but they find nothing until Castiel removes a painting from the wall behind the desk.

“Dean…I’ve found a safe,” Castiel announces, setting the artwork down.

“Finally,” Dean exhales, relieved. He walks over to Castiel’s side and stares at the keypad for a moment. “Okay…let’s try…“

Dean punches in five numbers and a signal light blinks red.

“Dammit,” Dean curses quietly. He takes a deep breath and tries again. This time, the light blinks green. Dean smiles triumphantly and opens the safe, pulling out its contents. Dean hands some of the files to Castiel and they both look through the papers.

Reading the files, Dean furrows his brow. “Wait a minute, aren’t these-“

“Dean, these are the patient files for the couples who were murdered recently. But only their files…”

Dean looks up and gives an empty smile. “Awesome. Good to know we’ve personally been assigned to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. You know, violent, killer monster by night; Dr. Phil by day-“

From outside the office door, someone tries to turn the knob before realizing it’s locked. After the two put the files back in the safe, Castiel places the painting back on the wall as the person outside the door searches for his or her keys. Just as the door opens, Dean and Castiel take their places on the love seat.

“Hello, hello, my bickering lovebirds!” the therapists sings cheerily as she glides into the office. She heads to her desk and places her purse on top. Grabbing a clipboard, a pen, and some paper from a drawer, she rolls her chair closer to Castiel and Dean, taking a seat once at her destination.

“Alrighty, then!” she beams. “I’m Dr. Christine Hall, but you can call me Chris! And I know one of you is Jason and the other is Brian – but we won’t worry about who’s who just yet!” And she ends her sentence with another smile.

“Okay,” Chris begins, rolling up her sleeves and poising her pen over the paper. “Tell me what’s on your minds.”

We are so screwed, is the only thing on Dean’s mind at the moment as he takes in the tattoos on Chris’s arms. With no way to communicate with Castiel with Chris staring at them, Dean just reaches over and takes Castiel’s hand, hoping that the unexpected gesture tips Castiel off somehow.

“What’s on our minds?” Dean repeats, giving a short, forced laugh. “Ha…well, where do we begin…”

…

Chris pinches the bridge of her nose. Twenty-five minutes into the session and she knows she’s gonna need something stronger than Advil tonight.

“You lied to me about Sam – for an entire year! And then you lied to me about Crowley – how in the hell am I supposed to trust you?” Dean yells.

“That was four years ago, De- uh, Jason!”

Chris sighs and tries to break up the fighting. “Okay, gentlemen…let’s just calm down-“

“Holy crap, four years already? Damn, the married life…time just flies by when your significant other is secretly and corruptly gearing up for war, huh, babe?”

Confused, Chris looks between the two of them. “Wait, did you say war-“

“Well…sweetie,” Castiel snaps back, eyes narrowed. “At least my time with Crowley wasn’t spent…drinking, playing pool, and having sex with, no doubt, innumerable women.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Really? Ca- uh, Brian? That’s what you’re mad about? The drinking and the sex and the pool….Well if doesn’t make you feel any better, sweetheart, there was also a crap-ton of karaoke.”

Castiel and Dean both turn to look at Chris (Dean eyeing her tattoos more than anything) and wait for her response to their “bickering lovebird” charade.

“Okay, so let me get this straight – so…you basically both snuck around behind each other’s backs with…the same…guy?” With each passing word, her voice gradually increases in pitch.

“Uh…yes. More or less. I suppose,” Castiel answers. “But it was more of a business relationship-“

“The hell it was! ‘Business’….As soon as you got what you wanted, you dropped that son of a bitch and started playing God…”

Castiel glares at Dean. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Dean briefly makes eye contact with the angel, but quickly looks down at his hands, rubbing his palms together.

“Yeah, I know you try to do the right thing,” Dean says quietly. “We all try.”

Pleased with the session ending on an amiable, Chris beams once more. “See? That wasn’t too horrible, right? We’re making progress already!”

Castiel and Dean both nod and smiley politely, her bubbly personality too much for them to match in caliber.

After taking down some final notes, Chris continues. “Okie dokie; so I usually like to hold my second or third sessions at my patients’ home – just to get a vibe of your domestic life, no biggie. So on your way out, make sure you leave an address with the secretary so we can arrange a meeting soon!”

Chris stands up and the boys follow suit. “Well, it was an absolute pleasure to meet you two!”

“The feeling is mutual,” Castiel replies with a small smile, beginning to head toward the door with Dean.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Chris groans teasingly.

The boys stop walking and look back at Chris.

“What?” Dean asks lamely.

“What, no hug or kiss, or even a high five? You guys made it through an entire forty minutes together without trying to kill one anoher!” Chris explains excitedly. “For most couples, that’s…a godsend. So at the end of the session, they usually give each other a celebratory hug or kiss, you know…”

Chris beams at them, expectantly.

Dean gives a short dismissive laugh. “Ah, no I don’t think that’s necess-“

Regardless, Castiel grabs Dean by the jacket and pulls Dean’s face towards his, pressing their lips together. Five seconds later, Castiel lets go and takes Dean by the hand.

“We have to go. Now.” And Castiel leads the two of them out of the office.

…

“Dean?”

“Sam?”

“Hey. Man, I hope you didn’t leave the doctor our address,” Sam warns over the phone.

“No, ‘course not.”

“Good. I’m leaving the last vics’ house right now. You and Cas are still at the clinic, right?”

“Yeah, we’ll be waiting outside the building. And dude, the doc’s-“

“A Djinn. Yeah, I know.” Sam sighs. “And by the looks of the last crime scene, it looks like she’s not the only djinn we’re dealing with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Given for this Chapter:
> 
> "A Dean/Cas 'fake dating/married trope'" 
> 
> \- @sammit-dam on tumblr


	4. For Whom the Storm is Named

2 DAYS AGO

Sam hangs up the phone and sighs, shaking his head in frustration. Dealing with one Djinn was difficult enough, and Sam wasn’t sure how many of them were taking some R&R in Youngstown. Even with Castiel, the three of them might not be enough…

Walking down the steps of the two-story home, Sam makes his way to the Impala. After swinging by the clinic to pick up Castiel and Dean, they would have to head back to the motel and come up with a plan: figure out how many Djinn they were dealing with, possibly do some research on group dynamics among several Djinn…possibly think about calling back to the bunker for back up-

Lost in thought, Sam bumps into someone inspecting the Impala, standing about a foot away from the car. Sam looks the individual up and down, and his heart sinks. It’s an FBI agent.

“What do you think you’re doing here; this is a closed crime scene.”

“I was just, uh, you know…” Sam gestures vaguely to the house behind him. The agent looks over Sam’s shoulder briefly before returning his eyes to Sam.

“You got some identification I can look at?”

“Uh, yeah…of course.” Beginning to panic, Sam pats the front of his suit, feeling for his fake badge. His mind is already jumping to unfavorable scenarios, most of them ending with him being sentenced in courtroom. Finally finding the ID in his left breast pocket, he pulls it out and hands it to the agent. 

“My name is Jimmy Page,” Sam supplies.

“Really? Well your badge here says ‘Wedge Antilles’,” the agent reads skeptically.

Crap, I grabbed the wrong badge, Sam thinks. “I, uh…had a name change…recently.”

“Huh….And, uh, who were you sent by?”

“D.C.” Sam responds promptly, reaching in his other breast pocket for a business card. “If you’d like, you can talk to my superv-“

“No, that won’t be necessary, Mr….uh, Page,” he interrupts. The agent then pulls out his cell phone and makes a call.

“Oh god,” Sam whispers under his breath. In the meantime, Sam takes his phone out again and texts his brother.

Dean…I think I’ve been made.

A few seconds pass by and the phone vibrates.

Dean: By who?

FBI.

“Excuse me, sir, but could you come with us?” Sam looks up from his phone to find two agents standing in front of him, the second one with a sucker in his mouth. Sam’s phone vibrates in his hand, but he doesn’t dare look at Dean’s text now. Without reading the text, Sam puts the phone back in his pocket and gives a weak smile.

“Wh-where are we going?”

…

Sam leans forward in despair, his head hitting the bars of the cell.

“I can explain,” Sam begins, not sure in the slightest how he could talk himself out of this one.

“Well, I sure as hell hope so,” the agent with the sucker retorts. “Cause right now we’re looking at charges for impersonating a federal agent, not to mention charges for disturbing a crime scene, breaking and entering…and god knows what else.”

Handcuffed and stuffed into the backseat of a police car, Sam was taken to the nearest police station and placed in a holding cell until further notice. As far as he knew, the Impala was still at the crime scene, Dean had no idea of his whereabouts, and four hours later, he was still trying to find a way out.

“Look…if you would just call my supervisor, I’m sure we could…work this whole thing-“

The agent walks up to Sam’s cell, takes the sucker out of his mouth, and begins emphasizing his words with it.

“Fake name. Fake badge. Fake agent….Son, I wasn’t born yesterday – I know a pattern when I see one. So forgive me if I’m not too keen on calling this ‘supervisor’ of yours from ‘D.C.’ If anything, we’ll probably slap some cuffs on your partner too; no doubt he’s a deep in this…operation as you are.”

And the agent puts the sucker back in his mouth, walking away from Sam.

“Fine,” Sam sighs, rolling his eyes, becoming increasingly frustrated with the agent. He tries to pace, but the cell is too small. Easily no more than 9x9 foot space, there was only a chair and a toilet in the holding. After about two minutes of silence, Sam finally decides to ask: “When can I make my call?”

“You don’t,” the first agent says, walking into the room. He goes to the door of Sam cell and takes a set of keys out of his pocket, smirking. “Time for your mug shot, kid.”

…

“Dammit, Sam…pick up the freakin’ phone. Come on, dude…”

After six rings, the phone goes to voicemail and Dean hangs up angrily. He and Castiel have been waiting outside the clinic for the past few hours, watching the sky darken and hoping to hear back from Sam. At this point, Dean has no doubt that the authorities had taken Sam in. But they should have given him his phone call by now, Dean thinks. Right?

“Dean, perhaps we should go back to the motel,” Castiel suggests. “Waiting here isn’t doing any-“

Castiel stops speaking mid-sentence as the Impala pulls up next to the curb. Dean and Castiel begin walking towards it wearily.

“Sam?” Dean calls. The driver’s door opens and the agent with the sucker exits the car.

“Who are you?” the agent inquires, walking around the car and making a bee-line towards Dean.

“Depends; who wants to know?” Dean counters, standing his ground.

“FBI,” the agent replies, holding up his badge. “I’m looking for a ‘Dean Winchester’.”

Castiel and Dean exchange a look, worry mirrored in their expressions.

Dean takes a deep breath, apprehensive. “Congrats – you found him. Now what do you want?”

The agent takes a few steps closer to Dean until they are about a foot apart. Pulling the sucker out of his mouth, the agent smiles. Suddenly, the features of his face begin to morph, becoming unrecognizable until the archangel, Gabriel, is standing in his place.

In shock, Dean takes a step back and puts his hands behind him, instinctively pulling his gun from the waistband of his jeans.

“Cas, what the hell?” Dean yells, demanding an explanation, ready to shoot the Trickster.

Angel blade reflexively in hand, Castiel stares wide-eyed at his brother. “I don’t…Gabriel?”

“Nice to see you too, bro.”

Both Dean and Castiel lower their weapons, and Castiel walks over to stand near his brother and Dean.

“Gabriel: what are you doing here?” Castiel inquires.

Gabriel rolls his eyes and turns away, walking in a small circle in front of Castiel and Dean.

“Well, once I heard that Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were going to be in the area, I just couldn’t resist. Before going on the run, I did some time in the slammer myself – thought it was time to inflict my own wrath on someone else for a change.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, not believing Gabriel. “Brother, don’t lie; what are you-“

“Wait, wait – hold on,” Dean interjects, holding up a hand as the pieces in his head click together. “’Doing time’? So…you’re the one who locked Sam up?”

Gabriel smiles playfully. “Come on, Dean-o! You two are always waving around those clip-art badges – someone’s bound to notice at some point!”

Unamused, Dean responds coolly. “Bring. My brother back. Now.”

The Trickster holds up a hand in surrender and snaps his fingers. Then a few feet away, Sam appears slightly disorientated. Turning around, Sam spots his brother and the two angels.

“Gabriel,” Sam seethes, walking towards the three. Spotting the sucker in the Trickster’s hand, Sam shakes his head. “Should’ve known it was you…”

Gabriel gives three slow, sarcastic claps. “Four for you, Sammy, boy. Four for-”

“Gabriel!” Tired of delays, Castiel repeats himself once more, forcefully. “Why are you here? And the truth, this time.”

Castiel’s brother sighs. “Same reason the three of you are here – the Djinns.”

“What about them?” Dean asks.

“Well, they’re nasty sons-of-bitches-“

“Obviously-“

“-and they’re taking things that don’t belong to them,” Gabriel finishes angrily. “Our plan was to get in, take care of the Djinn, and then haul ass. But then you three showed up and started sniffing around…so now we have to get your sorry butts off the battlefield before shit hits the fan.”

In the distance, the sound of tires straining against road pierce the night, followed by honking and the acceleration of a car. Another beat of silence passes between the four before Castiel speaks up.

“Why wasn’t I notified of this, Gabriel? If Heaven’s conducting a mission, I would think that I would be informed about it.”

Gabriel shrugs. “Not this one, bro…guess they thought it’d hit a little too close to home for you.”

“How so?” Castiel asks, taken aback. “What are the Djinn stealing?”

Gabriel looks at Castiel somewhat apologetically. “They’re taking s-“

Without warning, there is a tattooed arm closing tight around Dean’s neck. Within seconds, seven Djinn appear out of nowhere, surrounding the angels and humans.

Turning his gun backwards, Dean shoots the Djinn choking him through the chest, the vise around his neck loosening enough for Dean to break free, turn around, and launch another bullet in the monster’s head.

Armed with their angel blades, Castiel and Gabriel each take on two Djinns, at times moving too fast for the eye to see. After five minutes, a black eye, and a bleeding lip, Castiel gets the upper hand, sending the blade through the abdomen of one Djinn and smiting the other with his hand. Two bursts of light and the monsters fall.

Less than a minute later, Gabriel has a Djinn pinned against the wall of the clinic building, angel blade pressed against its neck. The other one he was fighting is nowhere in sight, but chunks of skin and pools of blood splatted on the sidewalk leave little to the imagination.

Surveying their surroundings, Castiel notes that two of the Djinn must have taken off, but that they were also missing –

“Where’s Sam?” Dean inquires, heavy panic in his voice. “He was here less than a minute ago and now he’s gone.”

The three of search the area, looking around cars and in alleys and inside the lobbies of nearby buildings. Dean calls out his brother’s name every so often.

“He’s gone,” Castiel sadly announces after a twenty-minute search.

“They must have taken him,” Gabriel speculates.

Castiel exhales, his breath visible in the cold air. “Clearly.”

The two angels stand for a moment, the silence becoming too heavy when they don’t hear Dean’s voice anymore. Looking around, there saw no one else. 

Castiel’s eyes widen in fear and he yells into the night, “Dean?”

No response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Given for this Chapter:
> 
> “The boys cross paths with real FBI Agents; one of who might just be Gabriel.”
> 
> \- @arinae on tumblr


	5. Divergence

…

2 DAYS AGO

“Where did they take Sam and Dean?” Castiel demands, turning to Gabriel angrily.

Gabriel shakes his head. “They could be anywhere. From what I’ve heard, the Djinn have been setting up shop both in and around the town.”

“That’s not very helpful,” Castiel grumbles as he begins pacing the sidewalk. “What do the Djinn want? Why are they taking couples?”

“What everyone is after,” Gabriel begins sarcastically. “Money. Fame. A good sex life. But the Djinn – they’re….They’re after souls,” Gabe finishes quietly.

Castiel stops pacing. At the celestial level, souls are the ammunition in all struggles for power – and the consequences of misusing souls are disastrous, to say the least. From experience, Castiel knows angels are not to be trusted with that type of power…and now some Djinns – common Djinns – were trying mine that source.

“Gabriel, why are they doing this?”

“Civil war, brother,” the Trickster answers simply. “Targeting the clinic and these couples: just a way to up the supply. An unhappily married couple willing to take their shrink home?” – Gabriel gives a low whistle – “ Twice as many souls per house call.”

And now they have two extra souls in their reservoir, Castiel thinks. They could be miles away – miles apart from one another, if they had been separated. Searching everywhere would take-

“Well, we don’t have the…luxury of searching for days. We need to find them as soon as possible.”

“Obviously,” Gabriel concedes. “So…what’s the plan, Cassie?”

Castiel looks away from his brother, weighing his options. The last thing he wanted was to get another one of his siblings involved, but if that what it took to keep his friends’ souls intact…

“We call for back-up.”

…

“If I haven’t told you this recently, let me say it again – you are all idiots.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel sighs and switches his cell from one ear to the other. “Y/N, it wasn’t our fault – “

“The three of you find out you’re hunting a Djinn – apparently, more than one at this rate – and it doesn’t even cross your minds to arm yourselves with the toxin-“

“We didn’t know about the Djinn soon enough and we didn’t have the time!” Castiel interrupts, defensively. “Look, can we – can we discuss this after we’ve rescued the Winchesters? Please?”

There is a few beats of silence and s/he relents. “Of course. What do you need?”

“More people. There are…many more Djinn than we originally thought, and once we find Sam and Dean, we are going to need numbers on our side if it comes to a fight.”

“O…kay. Hold on a moment, Cas.”

Castiel waits as Y/N begins typing on the other end of the line. After a few minutes of silence, Castiel begins to wonder if s/he’s forgotten about him. 

“Alright. Luce and I will be there by tomorrow morning – I just booked a flight,” s/he says. “And after we hang up, I’ll call Adam and see if he can meet up with us. I’m pretty sure he’s taken care of that whole ghoul thing by now…”

“What about Ash?” Castiel asks. Ash is intelligent – he can probably find a way to locate the brothers quickly. 

Y/N laughs a little. “Well, Ash is on shore leave right now in Vegas, I think. But I’ll call him and see if he doesn’t mind cutting his vacation a little short.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replies, grateful.

“Thank me when we get our boys back.”

…

YESTERDAY

Y/N and Lucifer watch as Castiel crosses his arms on the table and then buries his face in them in despair.

“Castiel…what’s wrong?”

The angel looks up, still resting his chin on his arms. “That…is a terrible idea.”

“You have a better one?”

“Not at the moment – but we are not doing that.”

The three of them are back at the motel, sitting at the table by the window. Y/N is eating breakfast as they try to come up with a search and rescue plan. And Lucifer just suggested the bait-and-hostage strategy.

“Come on, Cas. It’s not that bad,” Lucifer says. “We lure one of the Djinns out, capture it, and it’ll tell us where Thing 1 and Thing 2 are.”

“And who exactly is supposed to ‘lure’ them out?”

“Y/N.”

“I can do that,” Y/N says promptly. “It’d probably work, too.”

“No,” Castiel replies, definitively. “Absolutely not.”

“Brother-“

“Why not?”

“No. We’re not risking losing anyone else.”

Annoyed, Lucifer sticks his split-tongue out at Castiel. Even after so much time passed, Castiel still finds it strange to see his brother roaming around free. About a year ago, Heaven finally decided to send their most competent to free Michael from the Cage, unintentionally pulling the Devil himself out as well. Despite Naomi’s death, Castiel was certain they had found her replacement – someone capable enough to bleach Lucifer’s mind as they did to Castiel’s so many years ago. Lucifer was…good now, so to speak. And upon Sam’s and Dean’s request, he even found a way to free Adam from the Cage.

If only Heaven’s current mission could be as successful. Earth didn’t need another supernatural feud, courtesy of the Djinn.

“We have to think of something else,” Castiel finally says, standing up to walk around.

“Alright, so bait-and-capture is definitely out,” Y/N begins. “What about just…old fashioned, divide and conquer? We split up, each of us looking for one of the boys.”

Castiel walks over to one of the beds and sits down. “That’s just as bad as the last plan.”

“Fine. We go in teams,” s/he amends. “One human, one angel; one pair looks for Brother A and the other for Brother B. Once Adam gets here, we can begin looking.”

Castiel mulls the plan over. It’d be safer and more discreet than trying to lure a Djinn to them. And until Gabriel (who was out searching) or Ash (who was mid-flight) could point them in the right direction, there was not much else they could do but look.

“Okay then – let’s go.”

…

Eleven abandoned warehouses.

Two run-down factories.

Five empty apartment buildings.

All in almost seven hours.

That was Y/N’s count of the day’s work, looking anywhere and everywhere the Djinn would be likely to hold their victims while they “dreamed”. S/he had taken at least five cab rides in and out of Youngstown in an attempt to broaden the search perimeter. About three hours into the search, s/he and Lucifer split up to cover more ground, Y/N promising to pray for him in case trouble arose.

Now s/he walks on the sidewalk by a busy street, traffic going at a steady rhythm as the sun begins its slow descent. About three yards away from the crosswalk, screaming stops Y/N in her/his tracks.

“Ah crap,” Y/N mutters, reaching for the angel blade tucked away in the inside pocket of her/his jacket. There’s another scream and this time, Y/N can trace the sound to a small electronic shop on the other side of the street. Disregarding the crosswalk a few feet away, darting straight into traffic and dodging vehicles, Y/N reaches the electronic shop and goes in.

As the door closes, the inside of the store darkens until Y/N can’t see further than a foot in front of her/him. Cautiously, s/he takes out the angel blade with one hand and a syringe of the Djinn toxin with the other.

As s/he makes his way further into the shop, breathing becomes more difficult – whether due to the air quality or fear, it’s hard to tell.

Dammit, dammit, dammit…I should have called Lucifer before coming in here. This is how people end up on Forensic Files…dammit, dam-

An arm tries to find its way around Y/N’s neck from behind. Before it can, the angel blade is already flipped and stabbed through its abdomen.

Luce…if you’re hearing this, now would be a good time to swing by-

Loud footsteps give away her/his next attacker’s approach, giving Y/N the opportunity to neutralize the Djinn with the toxin. And then Y/N only has five minutes.

Five minutes to take on the four Djinn that have been hiding behind the electronic appliances the entire time.

Five minutes of struggling in 89% darkness, hoping against hope that the angel blade meets its mark each time.

Five minutes of fighting with, now, four dead Djinns, and Y/N thinks s/he’s won. Until a blow to the back of the head proves otherwise.

…

A few miles away, Lucifer comes across an old townhouse. Although it appears uninhabited, a stolen vehicle is parked on the front lawn, keys still in the ignition.

Lucifer returns his gaze to the house, looking for any signs of life. All he can see are broken windows and tattered curtains blowing slightly in the breeze. Within a minute though, a flickering light appears in one of the windows, catching Lucifer’s attention.

Ah…I’ve found you, little rodents, he thinks, smiling triumphantly to himself. Almost eight hours of searching has finally paid off. The Djinns were here.

…now would be a good time to swing by…

In less than two seconds, Lucifer has transported himself to Y/N’s location. Or at least, where her/his prayer originated from.

Looking around the dark room, Lucifer sees no one. Snapping his fingers, the lights come on in the store, but it appears just as deserted as before.

S/he must have gotten out trouble before I arrived, Lucifer tells himself.

Lucifer transports himself back to the townhouse, walking through the front door when he arrives. As he walks through the halls, he can hear the low murmur of voices; people talking and arguing and laughing. The conversations float unintelligibly through the house and Lucifer follows them up the stairs to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs Lucifer turns right, heading to the door at the end of the hall. Each step is taken carefully, with the creaking of the floorboards periodically interrupting the conversation more than once.

Getting to the room, Lucifer pushes the door open and lets himself in. He finds five Djinns spread throughout the room, some sitting, others standing. By the window, Dean Winchester hangs by his wrists from a thin contraption, a needle in his neck and his eyes open but blank.

Looking up in surprise and fear, one of the Djinns stands and takes a step closer to the angel. 

“Lucifer,” she breathes quietly.

The Devil smiles kindly and raises in hand in greeting.

“Hello.”

He twists his wrist abruptly, snapping the Djinn’s neck and watching her fall to the floor. The rescue mission has begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Given for this Chapter:
> 
> “Lucifer (because I wanna bring him back heh) x reader where Lucifer and the reader (she’s a hunter) live with the Winchesters in the bunker and Luce is helping the boys (which whatever’s happening during the compilation). He’s turning good and got out of hell. Maybe he saved Adam too so the boys like him?? Go wild <3”
> 
> \- @alienkid97 on tumblr


	6. The Aftermath (of Where We Left Off)

YESTERDAY

“Dean? Hey! Dean, wake up! Wake up…”

Someone is gripping Dean’s forearms and shaking him, trying to rouse him back to consciousness.

“Dean…”

Hearing the voice’s tone shift from panic to desperation, Dean forces himself awake, getting a fierce migraine in the process.

“Ugh…Jesus freaking…,” Dean groans, pulling himself into a sitting position while blinking back the brightness of the lights.

Castiel puts a hand on Dean’s back for support, sighing audibly in relief. “Dean, are you okay?”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “A little disorientated but, yeah, I’ll live.”

Around the pair, a large circle of people had gathered, all of them musicians. Dean couldn’t remember exactly what happened, but he was sure that his passing out had drawn in the crowd.

“Alright, nothing to see here,” Dean says dismissively. Standing up, Castiel offers a hand and pulls Dean to his feet. “Thanks for the concern, everyone, but I’m fine.”

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call an ambulance?” one of the instrumentalists offers. “Or at least one of the paramedics on hand?”

“Uh, no thanks, buddy. I’m good.” Dean claps a hand on the guy’s shoulder and gives him a small smile, walking away before anyone else tries to book him a hospital bed for the night. But before Dean is able to leave backstage, Castiel catches up with him.

They keep walking and out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see Castiel staring at him. He waits for Castiel to say something, but he’s doesn’t.

Stopping and turning to the cellist, Dean breaks the silence. “Can I help you?”

“I…just wanted to make sure you were okay. Before you passed out, you seemed confused…about something.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that tends to happen when you’re, you know, losing consciousness. But I’m fine.”

Castiel tilts his head slightly, his expression skeptical.

“Look,” Dean says quietly. “The last thing I remember is you introducing yourself. After that, lights out.”

“Alright then,” Castiel nods, believing Dean. “That reminds me: what did you come backstage for? When you approached me, you said you wanted to tell me something…”

“Oh. That. I, uh….” That night’s performance played itself back in Dean’s mind, 87 measures worth of music rushing through his head in the span of a few seconds. For a moment, Dean felt the same gravitational pull to Castiel as he did when he had first listened to the cellist perform. But the sensation vanished quickly, bringing Dean back to his senses.

“I, uh…just wanted to know where you go to school,” Dean lies, giving a weak smile. “You’re, uh, good at the whole…cello thing.”

Castiel smiles, flattered by Dean’s compliment – or attempt at one. “Thank you. It’s taken…a lot of practice to get where I am, and I still have much to learn…”

Dean smirks, thinking that the cellist was being much too modest.

“…and I owe my thanks to the teachers at BCOM. They taught me well.”

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “Wait…did you say, BCOM? As in Berklee?”

“Yes…” Castiel confirms slowly. “It’s a music school in Massachusetts.”

“Yeah, I know that. I go to that school.”

…

The remaining four Djinn stare in horror as a pool of blood blossoms from their friend’s broken neck, their fear of Lucifer slowly turning into a violent anger.

“…take one down, pass it around – 98 bottles of Djinn on the wall,” Lucifer sings to himself with a small smile.

Their anger further incited, two of the Djinn move in to attack Lucifer. Moving fast, Lucifer catches one of the Djinns by the neck, suffocating them.

“You didn’t like my song?” he asks with a false innocence. “Well…I thought it was funny.” And he drops the Djinn, letting him cough up blood and reestablish his breathing pace. The next few minutes are drawn out and bloody as Lucifer takes his time. Limbs are broken and shattered one by one, punctuated by a scream every so often.

As the fight progresses, Dean begins to stir. Through almost-closed eyes, he sees a body being thrown into a wall, the impact making the room shudder a bit. The slight movement disturbs Dean catatonic body and he can feel every ache in each of his bones. Stunned by the pain, Dean lets out a gasp.

One of the Djinns not yet involved in the brawl hears the sound and turns around. Although he can’t see very well, Dean can hear the footsteps of the Djinn approaching and his first instinct is to run, but with his body too stiff and sore, all Dean can do is groan in protest.

“Shh, shh, now…” the Djinn whispers sweetly. “Go back to sleep, Jason.”

The Djinn tilts Dean’s face up to hers, her tattoo glowing a deep blue as it inches its way up her arm meet Dean’s chin.

His face titled upwards now, Dean attempts to fully open his eyes, the effort more draining than he anticipated. The Djinn’s poison seeps into his bloodstream and threatens to take him back under, but Dean forces himself to take a quick glance at his captor before passing out. 

Oh great…nothing like irony to make the world go ‘round, Dean thinks as Chris, their “marriage counselor”, beams at him.

“Sweet dreams, my lovebird” she croons as Dean resumes his slumber.

…

“…do you play?”

Dean jumps a little, startled by Castiel’s voice. Looking at the cellist, Dean furrows his brow, somewhat disoriented again.

“Sorry, I uh…spaced out for a second. What did you say, Cas?”

Castiel narrows his eyes, slightly annoyed. “My name is Castiel, not…uh, Cas. And I asked you what instrument you played. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on campus…”

“I play guitar,” Dean responds. “I also do some percussion on the side, a little piano here and there, but…guitar is what I like to do.”

Castiel nods appreciatively. “And…what careers have you considered pursuing?”

“Haven’t really thought much about it…” Dean replies, distracted. Looking around, he sees that they’re no longer backstage. The two of them were now seated at a table in the reception hall, but Dean had no recollection of getting there.

“Dean, is everything alright?” Castiel asks worriedly.

“Yeah…yeah, I’m good. I, uh…careers? We were talking about careers,” Dean says, trying to get back on track. “So…what do you want to do with your life, man?”

“Probably travel with the company for a couple years,” Castiel answers, a far-away look in his eyes. “And then I want to compose and…perhaps give music lessons, as well.”

“Nice,” Dean says nodding politely. “Sounds nice. A little boring, but, uh-“

“Nice?” Castiel finishes.

“Ha, yeah.”

Castiel smiles and looks out into the reception hall, the crowd gradually becoming smaller and quieter as its patrons leave in ones and twos and threes. A waiter passes by their table and offers the two a drink. Castiel declines, but Dean accepts a glass of wine. While Dean takes a sip, Castiel carries on the conversation.

“And you. You don’t have…any idea what you want to do?”

“Well, getting a band together sounds kinda fun,” Dean replies with a smile. “Maybe I’ll become a rock star or something.”

“That’s not really a career.”

“Course it is, Cas.”

“Castiel,” the musician corrects again. “What about teaching or joining a company? You’re attending BCOM to earn a degree – what do you plan to do with it?”

Dean stares at Castiel for a moment before answering. This was beginning to sound more and more like an interrogation. For someone who may never see Dean again, Castiel sounded like he wanted to make sure as hell that Dean’s future was going in the right direction.

…But is that what they were doing, then? Discussing their future? A thousand thoughts competed for Dean’s attention, but the one that held his focus was that he and Castiel were now aware of each other’s presence on campus. At one point or another, their paths would cross – they did have a future together. What the future held depended on them…on Dean.

“I don’t know,” Dean finally answers, looking at his glass of wine. “A degree isn’t worth that much nowadays…probably just use it for firewood or something.” Dean smirks and downs the remainder of his drink.

Castiel shakes his head and smiles. “Well, at least you have some kind of plan.”

“Damn straight.” Dean puts his glass down and it immediately begins to shake. “What the hell…”

Across the room, a painting falls off the wall and breaks, catching Castiel’s attention. Not too long after, the floor beneath them begins to tremble.

“Um, what’s going on?” Castiel asks anxiously.

“No idea…“

The two of them remain at the table, watching cautiously as the lights begin flickering and patrons attempt to run for cover.

Suddenly, there is a flash of white light and Dean tries to shut his eyes, but it does little to block the light. Behind his eyelids, he sees three figures fighting. Bodies are being slammed into walls, furniture is being thrown, and the relentless impacts cause the room to tremble, making Dean’s vision unsteady. The light disappears, leaving residual spots in Dean’s vision. Finally, things begin to click into place.

“I need to get the hell out of here,” Dean says to himself. “I need to leave now.”

The ground is steady and still once more, so Dean stands up from his place at the table.

Castiel stands up as well, ready to follow if need be. “Dean…”

“I’ll be back,” Dean attempts to reassure him. “I’m just going to the bathroom. You know, between the wine and earthquake in freakin’ Maryland…I’ll be right back.”

Castiel stares after Dean a moment longer before taking his seat again. “Right back,” he emphasizes.

Dean winks. “Yeah, sure thing, Cas.”

…

This isn’t real.

None of this is real.

None of it was real.

It takes Dean a few minutes to wrap his head the despairing realization when he gets outside, but soon enough, he’s focused again and determined to find his way out of the Djinn-induced nightmare.

Thinking back to the last time he was incapacitated by a Djinn, Dean begins to search for himself, walking down the sidewalk away from the music hall.

Hopefully, my light is still on, he thinks.

…

Lucifer throws Chris’s body down the stairs for good measure. Or just for fun, he thinks.

Even though all the Djinns in the town house are taken care of, Lucifer is certain that more would be on the way soon. Going back to the room at the end of the hall, Lucifer makes his way to Dean, strung up by his wrists near the window.

“Dean?” Lucifer calls. “Dean?”

When he doesn’t respond, Lucifer sighs, convinced that Dean will have to be carried out unconscious. Regardless, the angel works to free Dean from the contraption, removing the needle injected in his neck and untying his wrists. Once Dean is released, Lucifer props his body in a sitting position with his back against the wall. Dean remains unconscious.

He won’t be waking up for a while, Lucifer assess. He’s been dosed up enough to-

Dean suddenly breathes in dully. Lucifer brings himself down to Dean’s level, taking a knee.

“Hey, how you feeling?”

It takes Dean a moment to process what’s being asked, and then he replies almost inaudibly, “Like shit.”

“Well, you look like it,” the angel says matter-of-factly. Lucifer slides his arm around Dean’s torso and tries to help him up. “Can you move?”

“For what?”

“To run the New York marathon,” Lucifer shoots back sarcastically. “We need to get out of here before more Djinn come ba-“

They hear the front door open downstairs and the sound of several pairs of heavy footwear marching up the stairs.

Lucifer sets Dean down again, propping him back against the wall. A few more seconds and about four Djinn appear in the doorway of the room. Behind them, Lucifer can see at least another three.

He sighs. “Ninety-nine bottles of Djinn on the wall; ninety-nine bottles of Djinn….”

…

Dean opens his eyes and looks around, trying to orientate himself. It takes him longer than it should to realize he is sitting under a table, Castiel seated on his left side.

“What’s happening?” Dean inquires.

“Earthquake safety,” Castiel explains, going along with the fact that Dean experiences frequent amnesia. “Apparently, hiding under tables will protect us…unless, of course, the ceiling caves in.”

“God dammit,” Dean mutters under his breath. He was back in the music hall…after being so damn close to waking up. He had found the lightbulb supporting his life in an abandoned warehouse a few blocks away and had regained consciousness for a minute or two, but it hadn’t been enough. Luckily, he hadn’t seen any other lightbulbs, so Castiel and Gabriel must have been able to get Sam back.

Dean begins to get up, but Castiel puts a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to sit back down.

“Cas-“

“Dean. Please don’t tell me you’ll be ‘right back’ when you have no intention of returning.” Almost inaudibly, Castiel’s voice breaks on the last syllable. Instantly, Dean regrets even thinking of leaving; things had been going so well for them; they were are the same school; there was a future waiting for them-

Dude, this is not real, Dean reminds himself. It’s not-

And for the second time in his memory, Castiel leans forward to kiss him. But this time it won’t count.

“No, no, no – we’re not doing that,” Dean hears himself saying as he stands up. For less than a second, their foreheads touched, their lips met, and Dean was going reciprocate. Wiping his suddenly sweaty hands on his pants, Dean swallows back a lump of guilt, wishing things could just be this simple.

Castiel gets out from under the table as well, and walks right up to Dean with no regard for personal space.

“Do you really want to go back out there, Dean?” Castiel challenges. “Out there, we don’t exist – not like this.”

“I know we don’t,” Dean concedes. “But out there is real.”

Castiel smirks. “But does that really matter to you anymore?”

…

Dean is awake.

Not partially.

Not swimming in and out of consciousness.

Awake.

After a hand from Lucifer, Dean is on his feet with an angel blade in hand. The two of them move through the town house quickly and quietly in the event that more Djinn were hiding.

“Why can’t we just, you know, pop back to base camp?” Dean whispers as they head down the stairs.

“Are you good at gambling?” Lucifer asks.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Well,” Lucifer begins, opening the front door when they reach it. “That’s what we’d be doing if we tried to pop in anywhere in this town. We have no idea where the Djinns are or how many of them are in any one place.”

“Alright, got it.”

When the two get outside, the stolen car is still there with the keys in the ignition.

“Perfect,” Dean comments, heading toward the car. As he opens the driver’s seat, a man with tattoos creeping up his neck emerges. Without hesitation, Dean slits the Djinn’s throat. Other Djinns begin to emerge from the car and with Lucifer by Dean’s side, the fours Djinns are taken care of in minutes.

Dean pulls the angel blade out of a Djinn’s back, and it falls at his feet as Dean wipes the blood off the blade with his jeans. “…freaking, Christ. Can’t wait to get back so I can…uh…finally, uh…take…” His remaining energy spent on the last fight, Dean’s legs give way and he sinks to the ground.

Making no move to get Dean up, Lucifer just sighs. Reaching out mentally, he attempts to contact Castiel.

I think we’re going to need an escort service, Brother. My mission here was successful: once again, Dean Winchester is saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Given for this Chapter:
> 
> “Cellist!cas meets Guitarist!dean somewhere and they realize they go to the same music school? (or something along those lines; I know it’s vague…. but I really like musician fics and the cello and there really aren’t enough of those.) :]”
> 
> \- @puppymisha on tumblr


	7. In The Eye

TODAY

Sometimes, the lights of the Bunker flickered. Only once was it due to a ghost’s presence, but most of the time inclement weather was the culprit. 

So when the lights begin to flicker as Sam enters the library, carrying two mugs, he thinks nothing of it.

“Hey,” Sam greets Castiel. “Merry Christmas!”

Sitting in one of the armchairs by the bookcase, Castiel looks up from his book and smiles. “Merry Christmas, Sam! What are those?”

“Hot chocolate,” Sam replies, taking a seat in the chair next to Castiel. “Here, try some.”

Castiel closes his book and places it in his lap, taking the mug that Sam offers. “Thank you. I, uh…don’t think it will taste like much to me, but in the spirit of Christmas…” And he takes a sip.

Sam grins, taking a sip of the drink himself. “What do you think?”

 

Castiel scrunches his face and clears his throat. “I think I burned my tongue.”

Sam laughs. “Hot chocolate, Cas,” he teases. “Anyway, where’s Dean? Did he go out or something?”

“No…your brother is still in bed.”

Sam looks at his watch and mutters to himself. “Jesus Christ, Dean, it’s noon. Ah, well – guess we’ll have to start Christmas without him.”

“Are you sure?” Castiel asks. “Maybe we should wake him…”

Sam thinks about it for a moment, taking another sip from his mug. “Nah…he’ll probably just be grumpy about it. I’ll let him wake up when he wants.”

“Okay, then. In that case, I’ll give you your present now, Sam,” Castiel announces, clearly excited about the tradition. Standing up from his chair, he places his book on the seat and sets his hot chocolate down on one of the bookcase’s shelves.

“Aw, Cas, you didn’t have to get us anything…” Sam half-heartedly groans.

“I know,” Castiel says simply, taking a step back to leave. “I’ll, uh…I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

…

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean yells angrily. “I thought you guys got Sam out!”

“Dean, I know you’re upset, but you need to calm down! We’re looking for him!”

Dean groans and turns his back on the angel, running a hand down his face. He was back at the motel with Castiel, Lucifer, and Gabriel, and woke up about twenty minutes ago. Lucifer and Gabriel were sitting at the table by the window, watching the exchange between their brother and Dean.

“So…Sam has been missing this entire time,” Dean recaps, turning back to face Castiel. “And we got no leads on where he might be?” Dean’s voice breaks.

“At the moment, no,” Castiel admits quietly. “But we’re still searching, Dean. From what Gabriel has told us, and from what we’ve seen, the Djinn have…spread themselves out across Youngstown and the surrounding areas. When they attacked us, they took you and Sam to separate locations…and they’ve also taken Y/N.”

Dean gives a sardonic smile. “Great…that’s just, freaking…peachy. God, those bastards….You got any other good news for me?”

Castiel looks back at his brothers at the table pleadingly, not wanting to be the one to break more bad news.

“Hey, don’t look at me, bro,” Gabriel warns. “When it comes to being the messenger, I’ve learned my lesson.”

Lucifer just smirks, shrugging as if to say ‘I guess you’re on your own’.

“C’mon, Cas…enough with the silent conversations,” Dean says. “What’s going on?”

Castiel turns back to Dean, an apology written in the lines of his face. “Dean, the Djinn are stealing souls.”

For about a minute, Dean remembers waking up to seeing his brother after a year of thinking Sam was in the Cage. He remembers their first hug that didn’t quite feel right. Dean remembers the one-night-stands who were targeted by the arachnid; being asked to “take the shot” even though a mother and her son were in his line of fire; the look on Veritas’s face when she denounced his brother’s humanity; the sinking feeling in his gut when Sam admitted that he didn’t “really care” about Dean.

Dean nods and turns around, heading to the motel room’s fridge.

It’s eleven o’clock at night, but he grabs a beer anyway.

…

Sam laughs.

“Haha, this is awesome, Cas!”

“You like it?”

“Yeah, I love it!” Sam stands up and puts his present down on the armchair. Quickly, he takes off his shirt and replaces it with the sweater Castiel has given him. He looks down at the blue-green plaid sweater and smiles.

“It’s a little big,” Castiel notes apologetically. “I…seem to have overestimated your size a bit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s perfect,” Sam reassures the angel. “And warm.” Lowering himself to get level with Castiel, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, Sam gives his friend a hug, a silent ‘thank you’ for the gift.

“Alright, now it’s my turn,” Sam says, letting Castiel go and standing up.

“Sam,” Castiel begins, giving the Winchester a semi-disapproving look. “You didn’t get me a present, did you?”

‘C’mon, Cas – you can’t be the only allowed to play Santa here.” Sam gives Castiel a wink and leaves the library.

A few minutes later, Sam is in the Bunker’s garage, cradling a small puppy in his arms. Castiel’s been on Earth long enough, Sam thinks. It’s about time he gets a pet.

After setting the dog down and putting its leash on, Sam begins making his way back. Just as he’s about to turn the lights in the garage off, they begin going out one by one.

As the light bulbs explode overhead, Sam looks around, trying to find a possible source for the sudden mayhem, but there’s nothing visible. Sam doesn’t notice any drop in temperature since being in the garage, either. Most likely, not a ghost…great, Sam concludes bitterly.

Sam looks down at the dog by his feet, making sure it wasn’t startled. The puppy yawns and looks back up at him, wagging its tail as though nothing had happened. Perplexed, Sam furrows his brow and looks back up.

“What the-“

All the light fixtures in the garage have been restored, no evidence of anything having been broken.

“Okay, I’m just…going to worry about this later,” Sam resolves lamely, finally flipping the light switch down.

When Sam gets back to the library, Castiel is still nursing his mug of hot chocolate.

“You might wanna finish that before she gets to it,” Sam warns. Castiel looks up and sees the puppy, his eyes widening in surprise. Kneeling down, Sam unclips the leash from the dog’s collar and she runs to Castiel.

The puppy jumps into Castiel’s lap and he begins petting her, running his fingers through her soft fur. The little dog barks happily and the angel beams with childlike amusement.

“Sam, you got me dog?” Castiel asks in disbelief.

“Uh, kinda. Well…I got us a dog,” he clarifies. “But she’s seventy-five percent yours, so…” Sam shrugs.

Castiel opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it. He looks down at his new pet and smiles. “Thank you, Sam.” 

“Yeah, no problem, Cas.”

…

Dean opens his third bottle of beer and leans against the counter. It’s twelve-thirty in the morning in Youngstown, But it’s five o’clock somewhere, Dean thinks. Gabriel and Lucifer are gone, continuing the search for the missing hunters, leaving Dean and Castiel alone at the motel.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Castiel inquires worriedly, watching Dean take a swig from the bottle.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Castiel shifts in his seat at the table. “You know…Ash will be here in the morning. He’ll be able to help us find Sam and Y/N. He’s already started working on tracking the Djinns’ location.”

Dean nods, his face void of emotion. “Awesome. How about Adam – is he coming?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Castiel replies slowly. Castiel despised being the official bearer of bad news, but for the past few hours, that seemed to be his job. “There won’t be another flight out of his area to here for another few days. But if things, uh…aren’t resolved by then, he will be here.”

Dean sigh, throwing the cap of his bottle into a nearby trashcan and taking another sip of his beer. “Awesome.”

…

“Alex,” Castiel responds promptly. “Her name is Alex.”

“Haha, alright…Alex it is,” Sam confirms. The two of them are playing fetch with Alex, taking turns throwing a plastic spoon across the room and having her retrieve it. Each time she drops the spoon in front of them, Alex gives a short bark, the sound high-pitched but soft.

Castiel turns to Sam, seated cross-legged to the angel’s right, wearing a worried expression. “Sam, does Dean like dogs?”

Sam gives a half-smile. “Dean doesn’t like dogs in his car. Pretty much anywhere else is fine. He’s not a huge animal person, but, uh, he doesn’t really have a problem with pets.”

Suddenly, Alex runs out of the library, barking excitedly as she goes.

“Crap!” Sam exclaims as he and Castiel get up unceremoniously. They jog out of the library and turn the corner, running into a barely-awake Dean. Clad in a robe and sporting bed-head, Dean holds the little puppy under his arm.

“I, uh…Merry Christmas, Dean!” Sam greets awkwardly, taking a step forward to take Alex from his brother.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel also greets, scratching Alex’s head while Sam holds her.

“I decide to sleep in for what – one, maybe two hours?” Dean begins, clearly irritated. “And the two of you go out and get yourselves a little noise-maker.”

Sam and Castiel both respond at once.

“We’re really sorry, Dean.”

“It was Sam’s fault.”

Dean smiles tritely. “You know…in all honestly…it would have probably been quieter if you two had just, I don’t know, spent some time in bed under a mistletoe, or something.”

Sam tries to speak but Dean cuts him off.

“ Sam, don’t you dare let that dog near Baby. I don’t care if it’s Jesus’s birthday, I will kill you.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Dean turns and heads back to his room. And Sam is sure it’s the trick of the light, but for a moment he thinks he sees his brother’s eyes flash blue. But before Sam can think about it too long, Castiel is tugging on the sleeve of his new sweater.

“Sam, you should show me how to make hot chocolate – I’ve finished the one you made earlier and, uh, would like another.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Given for this Chapter:
> 
> "Can I have some Christmas Sam and Cas, it doesn’t have to be shippy unless you feel like it, but just holiday feels maybe warm sweaters and hot chocolate and presents and happy things???”
> 
> \- @samsweetchester on tumblr


	8. Lightning Strike

TODAY

“Dean Winchester….Good to see you, man.”

Ash pulls Dean in for a one-armed hug, patting him on the back.

“Good to see you too, Ash. Hey, uh…sorry for cutting in to your vacation time.”

Ash pulls back and waves his hand dismissively. “Ah, don’t even worry ‘bout it. Although…I am up thirty grand. Sin City is a beautiful place, my friend.”

Despite himself, Dean smiles. It was early morning and Ash had just arrived at the motel from the airport, a little tired and a little drunk as always.

As Ash and Dean make their way to the small table by the window, Dean feels an enormous rush of gratitude for the man. When the Roadhouse was burned down, Ash faked his own death trying to protect information on Azazel from the demons – for the Winchesters. He stayed off the radar for a time, until he learned that the angels had eyes on the brothers. Then, he hacked his way into Heaven to help them escape from Zachariah, contacting Joshua just in time for him to save Sam and Dean. Once, Ash had sat Dean down and told him all of this, and even attempted to explain science behind his breaking into the angels’ playpen, but Dean disregarded it and chalked it up to Ash just being “a total badass”.

And now…now Ash was going to help them find Sam and Y/N as they were knee-deep in soul-hungry Djinns. Dean would never be able to ask for more.

“Alright…let’s see here,” Ash opens his laptop, stretches his arms out, and begins typing as Dean pulls up a chair next to him. On the screen, various windows pop up: charts; mathematical equations; maps; live footage from surveillance cameras; weather reports; and in the bottom left corner of the screen, Dean sees-

“Hey, is that Bust-“

“Amigo…” Ash interrupts coolly, but forcibly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Dean gives a weak smile and blushes a little. “Heh, right…”

“Exactly…. So – based on what I’ve got going on here, it looks like baby brother is about six miles outside of Youngstown. East.”

Ash points to the location on map, indicated with a small red dot. Sam, Dean thinks, slightly relieved. There was no guarantee he was okay, but at least they knew where he was – and that was a start.

Dean clears his throat. “Good, that’s good….And, uh, what about Y/N?”

“Not too far from here,” Ash replies, pointing to another red dot on the map. “A few blocks away.”

Dean nods, satisfied and – again – grateful. “That’s awesome and you can track the Djinns with that too, right?”

“Hell yeah; that’s how I was able to track our pals. This works almost exactly the same way I was able to track ol’ Yellow Eyes way back when: when the Djinns hit a town, there are omens and I can-“

“Ash, Ash…buddy,” Dean cuts him off, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure that’s all…very interesting. But we don’t have time, you know…”

“Fair enough.” As the two hunters stand up, Castiel and Lucifer walk in, closing the door behind them.

“Um, where do you two think you’re going?” Castiel demands, watching as Dean and Ash begin gearing up. Dean is by his bed, looking through his duffel bag for useful weapons. Ash is by the fridge, filling up a flask with beer.

“Got some Djinns to hunt and people to save, Hot Wings,” Ash shoots back. “Where’ve you two been? Out for donuts?”

Lucifer plops down in Ash’s seat and leans back, folding his hands over his stomach as he smiles. “Definitely out for donuts.”

“We’re going out to get Sam and Y/N back,” Dean replies, tucking his gun behind him in the waistband of his jeans. “Ash found a way to track their location.”

Castiel gives Ash a smile. “Good. I knew you’d be able to find them. But…the two of you weren’t planning on going alone, were you?”

Dean turns to face the angel. “Well, Cas, we weren’t just going to sit here on our asses and wait for you to come back. But you’re here now, so let’s go.”

Lucifer sighs. “…I just sat down.”

“Before we go, let me show the Wings something,” Ash says.

He walks back across the room to pick up his laptop from the table, Castiel following after to look over his shoulder and Lucifer standing up to do the same.

“’Kay, so the Blue Tatts are keeping Y/N here” – he points – “and Sam here” – he points again.

“And where are the locations of all the Djinns in the area?” Castiel inquires.

“Just a moment…” Holding the computer with one hand and typing with the other, Ash changes the functions of his program. Suddenly, the map is littered in tiny blue dots.

“As you can see, they’re, uh, kinda everywhere,” Ash comments.

“Send this to Gabe,” Lucifer instructs. “Right now he and a few other angels are scouting the area, looking for the Djinn – he could use this information.”

“Sí, sí, señor,” Ash responds, doing as Lucifer requested.

“Can we go? Now? Please?” Dean pleads, irritated. The sooner they could find their friends, the better.

“Of course,” Castiel agrees. “Dean; you and I will go get your brother-“ 

“And we’ll get Y/N,” Lucifer finishes, looking at Ash.

Castiel walks over to Dean, places two fingers on his forehead, and they disappear.

Ash sets his laptop down and pulls the flask from his pocket, tilting his head back as he takes a swig. Lucifer nods appreciatively and puts two fingers on Ash’s forehead.

Ash gives him a small smile. “Let’s rock ‘n’ roll, Satan.”

…

Y/N was awake again.

Despite the pain, s/he would rather be conscious and hurting than stuck in a dream world, completely oblivious. Two days in almost complete darkness and Y/N’s eyes have not adjusted. Every so often, an invisible figure would come in and add more of its poison into her/his system, trying to drown her/him in unconsciousness – and it had worked. S/he would be thrown back into a seemingly endless dream of a normal life: no weapons training, no Latin courses…no monsters. Just grocery shopping, bill paying, and laundry folding. Y/N would never admit it to anyone – and before being attacked by the Djinn, s/he wouldn’t have admitted it to her/himself either – but living a civilian life would be the be-all end-all of happiness for her/him. The only thing that would make it better would be sharing it with-

“Hey! Wake up!”

Someone is slapping her/him awake, shining a light in Y/N’s face. It’s the same voice s/he’s been visited by over the last 48 hours, but this time doesn’t feel like the previous house calls.

Y/N tries to ask “What’s going on?” but all that comes out is unintelligible groaning. The Djinn ignores her/him and begins disconnecting her/him from the contraption. Less than five minutes later, Y/N’s wrists are untied from above her/him and s/he nearly falls to the ground, weak from malnourishment and dehydration. The Djinn catches her/him before s/he hits the ground and carries her/him away.

Fifteen minutes, three flights of stairs, and two locked rooms later, Y/N is strapped down to a mattress in a candle-lit room. S/he can see two Djinns standing at the foot of the bed, one of them holding an ancient book that looks ready to fall apart if one breathes on it too hard. Although out of eyeshot, Y/N can sense a third Djinn seated behind her/him, perhaps ready to hold her/him down if s/he tries to get away…

The Djinn holding the book looks at her two co-conspirators, as if waiting for a say-so.

“Begin,” the Djinn behind Y/N prompts. In response, the Djinn nods and starts reading.

Y/N doesn’t recognize the spell or the language, but whatever the Djinn was reading was doing something to her/him. There was a ripping sensation is her/his chest, like something that was held inside was trying to escape.

Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scre-

“N-nn-no – aaaAAAHHHHHHH….” Y/N’s screams and the sound drowns out the Djinn’s incantation, and she has to read louder. Y/N didn’t realize it before, but the Djinn behind her/him has been holding her/him down the entire time.

The spell work goes on for another minute and a half before the pain abruptly recedes from Y/N’s chest. Finally opening her/his tear-filled eyes, Y/N sees it. A small, blue-white mass of energy floating above her/his body.

The Djinn standing next to the one holding the book walks closer to Y/N, carrying a clear, glass jar. She opens it, puts the top down on the mattress beside Y/N, and reaches out to grab the mass of energy. Before putting it in the jar, she stares at it for a moment, in slight awe of what she’s holding. Finally, she drops it in the jar and closes it, taking a Sharpie marker out of her pocket and writing ‘#11’ on its top.

As the Djinn leaves the room, taking the jar with her, all Y/N can do is stare after her retreating figure and attempt to put the pieces together in her/his head.

Holy…wait. Was that my soul? Did that bitch just take off with my s-

Suddenly, the woman is back, her body falling back through the doorway as if she had just been kicked. As if to confirm the Djinn’s apparent attack, Ash and Lucifer walk in after her, Ash carrying the jar containing Y/N’s soul.

Y/N could see that the hunter and angel had a simple plan; as soon as the Djinn who worked the spell put her text and the Djinn restraining Y/N moved in to attack, Ash got out of the way, leaving Lucifer to fight.

“I don’t think you’ve heard my song yet,” Lucifer greets the Djinns tauntingly. “It’s a twist on an old classic, but I think you’ll like it…”

The fight begins, the sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing accentuate Lucifer’s rendition of “99 bottles of the beer on the wall”.

Meanwhile, Ash makes his way to Y/N, untying the rope at her/his feet and wrists as soon as he reaches her/him.

“Those bastards…” Ash mutters. “Didn’t even have the decency to put you on a decent mattress…. Now, let’s get you your soul back,” and the hunter opens the jar, Y/N’s soul quickly making its way back into its host body.

Y/N screams as the energy reenters, and the scream catches one of the Djinn’s attention. While he turns his back on the angel to glare at Y/N, Lucifer stabs him and his angel blade goes right through the Djinn’s body. Lucifer pulls the weapon out and the monster falls. “Are we ready to go yet?”

“Yup, just a moment,” Ash responds. “Alright, well usually I’d let you carry your own ass outta here, but you’ll probably get us killed and I ain’t dying a second time so….” Ash slides an arm under Y/N’s knees and another behind her/his back, lifting her/him up so that s/he was cradled in his arms. As Ash turns to face the exit, Lucifer finally snaps the neck of the Djinn who stored Y/N’s soul, her bones audibly breaking as her head is forced past a 90 degree angle.

“Show off,” Ash says under his breath.

Walking back out the door briefly, Lucifer checks the hallway to make sure that no more Djinns are in their immediate vicinity. When the coast is clear, Lucifer walks back to Ash and Y/N.

Noticing that Y/N is beginning to slip into unconsciousness, Ash attempts to keep her/him awake as Lucifer is about to teleport them back to the motel.

“So what’d you dream about, Y/N?” Ash prompts.

Sensing sleep about to overcome her/him, Y/N grips part of Ash’s shirt, struggling to hold on to awareness. Somewhat delirious, s/he mumbles, “I dreamt that we were doing our laundry together.”

Confused and blushing slightly, but understanding the sentiment, Ash smiles. “Yeah…think I had a dream like that once, too.”

And Lucifer teleports the three of them back to the motel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Given for this Chapter:
> 
> “Prompt Au: ash is still alive as he miraculously survived the fire starts hunting with the Winchesters ( enter reader ) reader is saved by ash and they fall madly in love with each other”
> 
> \- @fangirlbillie on tumblr


	9. Storm Passing

TODAY

Sam and Dean pull into the parking lot of the bar, the wheels of their motorcycles lifting dust into the air.

Sam looks around the parking lot, glances at his watch, and sighs angrily. “Where the hell is everyone?”

“I told you they were shit company, Sam,” Dean berates his brother. He turns off his bike, pulling the key out of the ignition as he swings his leg off. He pulls off his helmet and rests it on the seat of his bike. Next to him, Sam follows suit.

“Should we wait?” Sam asks. “It’s already sixteen after eight.”

“Yeah, let’s give ‘em a few more minutes…damn vampires….” Dean pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Want one?”

“Sure. Thanks,” Sam takes one and puts it between his lips as Dean lights both of their smokes.

 

A few minutes later, the brothers let their cigarette butts fall to the ground, grinding them underneath their shoes.

“Alright, let’s go in,” Dean says, resigned. “If those bastards wanna skip out on their deal, that’s their problem.”

Sam and Dean turn and make their way inside the bar, smoke, cursing, and the stench of sweat and beer permeating the air.

As they walk toward the counter, someone calls out to them.

“Hey! Winchesters!”

Sam unzips his leather jacket and sets it down on a barstool. “Is that-“

“Yeah, it is,” Dean confirms, also draping his jacket over a seat. There was a fight coming and Benny and his guys had failed to back Sam and Dean up, like they promised. Dean was pissed; it was the vamps that owed these guys the money, not them. But now, like always, it was Sam and Dean who had to clean up their mess.

The brothers turn around and search the sea of people, waiting. Finally, the guy who called them out separates himself from the dense crowd. He sports a leather vest with various buckles and underneath, a ripped black t-shirt that looks about one size too small for his massive arms; his large black boots are mostly hidden beneath his dirty and slightly-loose fitting jeans. Within a few seconds, four more of his buddies show up, similar to him in style and build.

Next to Dean, Sam sighs, looking unimpressed and borderline bored.

“Where’s Benny?” the man asks gruffly.

Dean shrugs. “Try the Red Cross, maybe?”

The man gives a trite laugh. An audience has formed a circle around them, whispers floating through the crowd with people beginning to place bets on which gang would be walking away…walking away in every sense of the phrase.

“Look…I’m not trying to start something,” the man begins unconvincingly. “I just want my money. I won that game fair and square and your pal said he’d pay up, so…”

Sam smirks, already feeling the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins, electrifying his heart. He wanted this fight.

“Well, he obviously couldn’t make it tonight,” Sam taunts. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with us – and we’re not paying back a single dime.”

A low “ooh…” ripples through the crowd and people take a few steps back, giving the opponents more room to battle it out. At the counter, the bartender begins to lock up the alcohol, already anticipating a call to the police and an early close for the bar tonight.

The man laughs again and briefly looks at his cronies standing on either side of him before looking back at the boys. “Oh, Benny’ll pay back, I’ll make sure of it. But in the meantime, I’m taking you two as down payment.”

As the five burly men start advancing on the Winchesters, Sam and Dean both roll their sleeves up for effect. Dean can feel the Mark of Cain pulsing on the inside of his left arm, and he smiles as his eyes go black. On the inside of Sam’s right arm is a tattoo: written in Latin is a blocking spell inked in blue.

And really, Sam couldn’t be happier. If it meant never having to sleep, doing whatever he wanted and never having to feel guilty for doing so, he’d keep his soul out at any cost – bar fights and all.

…

They had searched four floors and still hadn’t found Sam.

“What if he’s not here?” Dean worries out loud as he and Castiel make their way up the stairs.

“Dean, I have full confidence in Ash’s skills. If his program tracked Sam’s location here, then he’s here.”

Dean admired the angel’s faith in Ash, but until they found his brother, Dean wasn’t going to count his chickens yet.

Just like with the previous floors, Dean and Castiel did a room-by-room sweep, opening every door to see if Sam was being held behind it. Three doors down, Dean opens a storage room filled top to bottom with glass jars, each glowing a bright blue-white light.

“Cas…”

“Oh no.” The angel looks over Dean’s shoulder, sorrow washing over him as he takes in the sight of innumerable souls trapped in glass.

“This civil war cannot be allowed to take place,” Castiel says quietly, but definitively, walking past Dean into the storage room. “Not if this is the answer; not if this is the cost of power.”

Castiel reaches out and takes a jar off the shelf in front of him, untwists the lid, and releases the soul. The mass of energy floats away – whether to its host or Heaven, Castiel can’t tell.

“Dean, we have to release these souls. All of them. They don’t belong here-“

Dean opens his mouth, about to argue that they should probably get Sam first and then come back.

“ – and one of them might be Sam’s,” Castiel continues. “Judging by Sam’s behavior the last time we attempted to return his soul, he…might not let us do it again, this time.”

Despite wanting to get to his brother as soon as possible, Dean knew Castiel was right. The soulless version of his brother had little regard for Dean or Castiel – if he wanted to remain soulless, and killing them was the only way to ensure that, Sam wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

“Alright,” Dean says, clapping his hands together once as he walks into the storage room. “Let’s get to work.”

…

The Winchesters took off a good fifteen minutes before the cops showed up. Had they stayed, there was a good chance they would have been booked for more than just ‘disorderly conduct’.

Three of the guys had decided to go after Dean. When they threatened to tear him apart limb by limb, Dean just laughed, only inciting their anger. Within seconds, Dean had one of them in a headlock, another unconscious on the floor, and the last staring fearfully as Dean twisted his companion’s head a complete 180 degrees. 

As for Sam, he left his opponents with at least three broken bones each. Arm-twisting, throwing them over tables, and using barstools as a blunt-force weapon…whatever it took to gain the upper hand and keep it.

Soon, patrons of the bar began to file out, quickly learning that it was not their typical bar fight and that all bets were off, the clear winners being the Winchesters. And so Sam and Dean left, no particular destination in mind except for “as far away, as quickly as possible”.

Five hours later and a few hundred miles between them and the police, Sam and Dean pull over for a cigarette break. They park their bikes on the side of the road, and sit on top of a nearby picnic table

“…doubt the rest of their bikers will come after us,” Dean comments proudly, taking a long pull on his cigarette.

Sam gives a short laugh. “Yeah, well…not after what we did to their buddies. They won’t come after us – they never do.” Sam taps his cigarette, watching as a few of the ashes fall to the ground.

“How much did Benny owe them anyway?” Dean asks. Now that he had time to reflect, he wanted to know exactly how much money they had gotten into this brawl for.

“Forty-five.”

“Grand?”

Sam nods and Dean gives a low whistle. “For a game of pool? Damn…Benny must’ve had at least one too many if he was waging that much.”

“Actually, I would’ve won the 45 if Boulder wasn’t a cheat.”

Sam and Dean turn their heads to find Benny walking towards them, stuffing a pair of leather gloves into the helmet tucked under his arm. Two vampires walked with him, one flanked on each side.

“So…which one of you bright fellas pissed off Boulder and his gang of merry men?”

“Both of us,” Sam answers promptly and coolly. “And we took care of all of them.”

“Did ya?” Benny inquires skeptically, taking a few steps closer to Sam. “You took care of them? Well…if that’s the case, why’s it I’m hearing there’s an APB out on my ass?”

Sam scoffs. What? You think one of Boulder’s guys turned you in?”

“It seems to fit.”

“Alright, let’s back up here,” Dean interjects, getting down from the table and putting his cigarette out before finishing it. He stands right in front of the vampire. “First off: where the hell were you guys? You said to meet you out front at eight o’clock. We roll in about ten minutes late, and you’re not there!”

“Brother –“

“No, no, no…don’t ‘brother’ me, dude. Sam and I were lucky it was only five guy or we would’ve…”

As Dean continues to reprimand Benny, Sam becomes distracted by something floating in the sky. As it descends closer and closer to him, Sam begins to recognize the blue-white of the energy mass.

“Oh, crap,” he says out loud.

“…the only reason why we even showed up tonight is because Sam thought…that…Sam?” Dean sees the worried look on his brother’s face and follows his gaze to the night sky. He doesn’t see anything. “You alright, Sam?”

Realizing that he was the only one who could see his soul finding its way back to him, Sam plays it off. Yeah…yeah, man I’m good. Just thought I saw something.”

“Anyway,” Dean turns back to Benny. “The only reason why showed up there tonight was because Sam thought we could trust you.”

Benny laughs. “Oh, Brother…first rule of being friends with a vampire: never trust him. That being said, we did show up – just after all the action had taken place.”

“You mean you checked in to see if we cleaned up your mess?” Sam simplifies. He was becoming increasingly irritated, but was not surprised. Every time he and Dean thought they had found another band of bikers they could ride with, it was the same story. And as much as he enjoyed fighting, he didn’t appreciate being used in the process.

“Great….Now that you ladies got your feelings off your chest, what are we gonna do about Big Brother huntin’ me down?”

Nothing, Dean wanted to say. He and Benny had gone through some tough times together way back when, but after the incident…he wanted nothing to do with the vampire anymore. If the police had him in custody, it was all the more better for Dean.

But before Dean can say any of this, Sam collapses, falling off the table onto the ground next to Dean. His brother was having spasms, clutching his chest and having trouble breathing.

Dean kneels down and tries to hold Sam still. “Sam? Sam! Hey! Pull it together, man!”

Above him, Benny begins muttering. “Ah, crap….Dean? Dean…Brother, we have to go…”

Annoyed, Dean shoots back, “Does now seem like a good time to you, Benny?”

As if in response, a car suddenly pulls up to them quickly, the tires squeaking as the breaks are slammed.

Over a police loud speaker, they hear: “Benny Lafitte and accomplices; would you all please come forward with your hands up.”

“Dammit, Benny,” Dean curses the vampire under his breath. Reluctantly, he leaves his brother’s body and stands up, following the officer’s instructions.

Meanwhile, Sam’s soul finds a way to force itself back into its host, the blocking spell on his arm proving completely useless after all. While beginning to slip into unconsciousness, someone shines a light in Sam’s face.

…

“He’ll wake up soon, right?” Dean asks, panic saturating his voice.

“He should,” Castiel replies, opening and closing Sam’s other eye.

They found Sam on the fifth floor of the building, in the second room they checked, guarded by six Djinns. With little to no plan, Dean and Castiel had gone straight in, guns blazing. The seemingly endless fight was punctuated by either the sound of Dean’s angel blade meeting its mark, or the scream of a Djinn with Castiel’s hand on its forehead. The last Djinn standing had attempted to kill Sam in a last-ditch effort, but Castiel teleported behind him just in time.

As they removed Sam from the contraption, Dean and Castiel assumed (well, hoped) that his soul had been in one of the jars and that it had found its way to him, even though they didn’t see it happen. Once Sam was free, they lied him down on the floor and were now waiting for him to wake up. 

“C’mon, Sammy…wake up,” Dean grabs a fistful of his brother’s shirt and shakes him slightly. “Wake up, man, wake up…”

Castiel looks over Sam’s still form, his worry growing with each passing minute. Placing a hand a few inches above Sam’s chest, he conducts an internal scan, searching for additional problems.

“He has…way more poison in his body than he should,” Castiel concludes, putting his hand down.

“What do you mean?”

Castiel sighs. “When the Djinns removed his soul, it seems that they continued to keep him…’dreaming’, if you will. But the way the poison works…it uses your desires to create the scenarios. Someone without a soul…well, their desires would be much harder to access-“

“So they’d need a higher dosage to keep Sam under,” Dean finishes quietly.

“Precisely.”

“And…there’s a chance that he could die from it, right? Too much happy juice in the bloodstream?”

Castiel doesn’t say anything, but reluctantly tilts his head once in affirmation.

Dean puts his face in his hands and then runs his fingers through his hair. “Well, this is fan-freaking-tastic.”

Seeing the distress on Dean’s face, Castiel puts one hand on Dean and one on Sam. There’s no use in waiting here, the angel thinks to himself, teleporting them back to the motel room. When they get there, at about four in the afternoon, Lucifer is sleeping at the table and Ash is sitting on one of the beds, a sleeping Y/N cradled in his arms. 

Having transported them back safely, Castiel walks away from the brothers and takes the seat across the table from Lucifer. Meanwhile, Dean picks Sam up off the floor and carries him to the unoccupied bed, lying his body down.

Stepping back and looking at his little brother, Dean tries to remind himself that Sam is just sleeping. That it’s not like the times before where there was no rise and fall of the chest. That even though Sam may be fighting for his life, he was strong, and would pull through like always.

That Sam was just taking a nap, and that he was going to wake up in a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Given for this Chapter:
> 
> “Winchester biker gang AU”
> 
> \- @penelopequill on tumblr


	10. And Thunder Signals The End

ONE WEEK LATER

“No. Nuh uh, we’re not watching that.”

“Why not?”

“Cause, I’ve already seen it 3,000 times!”

“Then one more time won’t hurt…”

Knowing that there’s no point, Dean gives up arguing with Y/N and they pop in Home Alone.

As the movie plays, Dean thinks back over the past week, how just eight days ago, they were rescuing their friends from a faction of soul-harvesting Djinns.

Dean shakes his head, still in disbelief in a simple case had landed them right in the middle of a civil war prepping ground. A war which, according to Gabriel, broke out not two days after they left town. Another faction of Djinns had attacked those in Youngstown and the surrounding areas…there wasn’t much of a town, or population, left.

After hearing the news, Dean decided that maybe it was time that they took some time off.

“I mean c’mon, it’s Christmas,” Dean had said, talking to the group of hunters.

“You want to have Christmas? Here?” Castiel had asked, surprised.

“Yeah…why not?” Dean replied weakly.

“What about Sam?” Y/N asked cautiously.

Sam was still unconscious, lying asleep in Dean’s bed. While the doctor had told Dean not to worry, that Sam would wake up in his own time, Dean wasn’t reassured. Regardless, Dean waited with his fingers crossed.

“He’ll, uh…he’ll probably be up and about by then,” Dean answered unconvincingly. Even so, they decided to have their first Christmas.

It was two days of grocery shopping and cooking, gift buying and wrapping. But by Christmas day, everything was ready: the kitchen counter was covered in food and presents were placed at the foot of everyone’s bed. Even Sam’s.

Now, they are all in Sam’s room – the only place with a proper screen and working DVD player – watching Home Alone. Dean and Castiel sit on the bed, while to their right Ash and Y/N share an armchair, Y/N sitting in Ash’s lap. On the left side of the bed, Adam and Lucifer each sit in their own chairs, brought in from the War Room.

“I’m gonna give ya’ to the count of three to get your lousy…”

Dean jumps a little, abruptly brought back to the present with the movie playing within the movie.

“…Three!”

The gunshots go off in the movie and at the same time, Dean hears a clashing sound from somewhere within the Bunker.

“…I’ll be right back,” Dean mutters as he slides off the bed and leaves the room to investigate. Walking slowly through the hallway, he hears the clashing again and knows it’s coming from the kitchen.

Arriving at the kitchen’s entrance, Dean peaks in the doorway to see what, or who, is causing the disruption.

“Sammy?”

Sam turns around holding a container of sugar in one hand, looking very weak and tired – but awake. “I’m – I’m sorry. I was making coffee and couldn’t find the –“

Dean throws his arms around his little brother’s neck in relief. A part of him had started to think that Sam wasn’t ever going to regain consciousness.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says, smiling weakly as he returns the hug with his free arm. “It’s, uh, good to see you…how long was I out?”

Dean let’s go of his brother, keeping him at arms’ length with a hand on his shoulder. “About a week, man.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “A week?” He looks around, as if suddenly disorientated. “Wait, what’s today?”

Dean smiles, looking at his best present ever. “It’s Christmas, Sammy.”

…

Somehow they were able to fit everything on the table in the War Room. All of the food, all of the presents, and Sam’s laptop, setting the mood by playing awful Christmas music.

Sitting around the table, they eat and open gifts. Between bites, there’s are “thank you’s” and “I love it’s”, and Adam’s recurring complaint that someone’s “overdone the damn chicken”.

By the time most of the food is gone and the eggnog is brought out, almost everyone has opened their gifts. For the most part, it had been an exchange of various forms of weaponry and books on mythology and obscure lore. The group had also been able to set up a nice vacation for Ash and Y/N in Vegas (“To make up for lost gambling time,” Dean had commented with a wink).

Finally, it’s time for Sam and Dean to unwrap their presents from Castiel. Dean opens his first.

“I, uh…woah, Cas…” Dean lifts an acoustic guitar out from the box. At first glance it seems plain, if not for the thinly carved angel wing on the pick guard.

Across the table, Lucifer gives a low whistle. “Now that’s a lover’s gift,” he teases.

“Shut up,” Dean shoots back, halfheartedly. As he sets the instrument down on the table’s surface, Dean’s faces heats up and he can’t help that his mind is thrown back to the Djinn-induced dream of him and Castiel meeting (and almost kissing) at the music hall. The only reality in which they could ever have a future like that together…

Dean clears his throat. “Thanks, Cas. This is awesome, man.” Dean feels bad, but at the moment making proper eye contact with the angel was out of the question.

Next to him, Castiel smiles, pleased that Dean likes his present. “I know you like classic rock music, so…I thought you might like to learn to play some of your favorite songs on guitar.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Dean grins, nodding in agreement while he continues to admire his new instrument.

“Alright, this is getting a little too sappy for me,” Ash complains, moving his gaze from Dean to Sam as he takes a sip of eggnog. “Sam, please tell me Hot Wings got you something less touchy feely?”

Y/N suppresses a snort while Adam and Lucifer exchange smirks.

Sitting on Castiel’s other side, Sam rolls his eyes and begins to open his present. A few seconds later, his jaw practically hits the table.

“Holy shit,” echoes around the table, Y/N accenting the communal response with a “god damn, Castiel”.

Castiel’s eyes suddenly widen, worried that Sam disliked his present. “What’s wro-“

“Jesus Christ,” Sam mutters, turning on his new 2-in-1 laptop-tablet. He remembers being at an electronics store with Castiel and Dean a few weeks ago, staring at the very same gadget longingly through glass. He had been tempted to buy it, but after looking at the price tag, he had no choice but to leave it behind.

“Um…do, you like it, Sam?” Castiel asks, holding his breath.

Several thoughts compete for a chance to escape Sam’s lips:

You didn’t have to spend so much on me, Cas.

This is too much.

Are you sure you want me to keep this?

Instead, Sam beams and turns to hug his friend. Castiel sighs in relief and returns the hug. “Dean said you liked technological things…but, uh, I know he sometimes says things like that jokingly.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean quips back, pushing his chair back in order to try out his guitar. “I wouldn’t lie about something like that – I’m a pro at gift giving.”

“Dean, fruit cake isn’t a present,” Adam says, thinking back to the individually-wrapped “desserts” Dean had given out to everyone.

Dean strums his guitar. “I think the appropriate response is ‘thank you’.”

Y/N gives a short sarcastic laugh and stands up from the table. “Yeah, alright Dean-o. I’m gonna go get more soup, anyone want some?”

Everyone politely declines. “Just another round of eggnog, please, babe,” Ash requests as Y/N makes her/his trip to the Bunker’s kitchen.

“When are we gonna go watch Home Alone 2?” Lucifer wonders out loud, throwing bits of food aimlessly at people. 

“We’re not,” Dean responds immediately, not looking up from his guitar. “I’ve already seen it-“

“Dude, no one cares how many times you’ve seen it,” Ash interrupts. “It’s a classic – we’ve gotta watch it.”

“No. It’s A Wonderful Life, is a classic. Holiday Affair, is a classic-“

“Well, we can watch those movies too,” Castiel chimes in. “But we’ve already watched Home Alone, we might as well watch its sequel.”

Sam smiles as he selects another app to download on to his device. “Looks like the garrison has spoken.“

Dean finally looks up. “Dude-“

Just as Y/N walks back into the War Room, ready to join the debate, the lights begin flickering. S/he, Sam and Dean each look around with panic-stricken faces. Wait…oh god, no…please…

Adam looks between the three. “You guys alright?”

Sam clears his throat, while Dean and Y/N blink their shock away.

“Uh, yeah…yeah…we’re good,” Sam assures him. The lights return to normal, Sam, Dean, and Y/N exchanging nods as if to say “it’s okay – we’re okay”.

Dean looks back at his guitar and strums it again. “We’re not watching another freaking Home Alone movie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Given for this Chapter:
> 
> “Team Free Will first Christmas together. At the bunker. They exchange gifts, try to make a meal, and watch stupid christmas movies. A little destiel implied here and there…”
> 
> \- @thewinchesterstales on tumblr


End file.
